


Mostly Letting Go

by Kiyara_Iris



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Genre: Alien Sex, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 16:32:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15634491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyara_Iris/pseuds/Kiyara_Iris
Summary: Groaning, Ford tried to remember if he’d scheduled an appointment to have his eyelids flipped inside out, his tongue sandblasted, or his skin replaced with Velcro. Searching what he could immediately access of his memory, he decided, no, he’d consciously done none of those things, no matter what the Guide offered for an insurance plan, and so settled for the fact that he must have been through a transfer beam with no alcohol or protein or salt intake beforehand. What the hell had he been thinking?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've always loved this pairing, there's something strange and beautiful that seems to keep these men together in a chaotic universe. Enjoy ^_^

               ‘ _Through the new strangeness of noise and light he could just make out the shape of Ford Prefect sitting back and laughing wildly._

_A tremendous feeling of peace came over him. He knew that at last, for once and forever, it was now all, finally, over.’ -Mostly Harmless_

 

               Like most semi-evolved life in this universe, Arthur Dent had always vaguely worried what happened after death. Fully-evolved life forms don’t worry much about this, having already come to a vast number of philosophical conclusions based on this question, most of which boiled down to, “Who cares? It doesn’t happen till after you’re dead. What’s there to drink?” Eventually, the ultra-evolved and mega-laidback Tragdian lifeforms of Curstata Platts IV added, ‘And who’s going to pay for it?’ Ford Prefect had lived his life according to the Tragdian idealism.

               Groaning, Ford tried to remember if he’d scheduled an appointment to have his eyelids flipped inside out, his tongue sandblasted, or his skin replaced with Velcro. Searching what he could immediately access of his memory, he decided, no, he’d consciously done none of those things, no matter what the Guide offered for an insurance plan, and so settled for the fact that he must have been through a transfer beam with no alcohol or protein or salt intake beforehand. What the hell had he been thinking? Opening his eyes was like lifting his lids to stick cotton balls underneath. He blinked. Oil-like liquid immediately seeped into the ducts again and blurred anything he might have seen. Rolling onto his side he wiped a hand across his eyes, focusing on the rather lurid carpet beneath him.

               “Would you like a program Sir?” A voice burbled next to him. Looking up and blinking a few languid times, (which was practically batting his eyelashes for the Betelgeusian) he saw a mostly purple shape made entirely of tentacles squeezed into the internationally acceptable costume of waiters of a higher society.

               “Sure, why not?” Even his voice sounded like it had been hurled down a sandbank in a blender. The blob handed him a transparent sheet of triangular plastic, pictures and script etched into it. Turning it a few different ways in the sparse lighting, he was finally able to make out the title script.

               Ford stood up whooping,

               “Arthur, do you know what this is?! Arthur?” He turned when the human wasn’t immediately forthcoming with curiosity and thanks for saving them yet again. Arthur was laying on his back, staring at the glittery ceiling. Ford crouched next to the man and repeated his question, a little let down that Arthur wasn’t giving him his full attention.

               “Is this the afterlife?” Arthur finally croaked out. Ford tilted his head.

               “Is this your idea of an afterlife?” He shook his head, not really wanting to get into a philosophical debate. “It’s actually an Interstellar Demolition Observatory.” Arthur finally looked at him, then around at their surroundings. They were in a small hallway decorated in the latest Ulturian fashion, an alcove showing various forms of coats from across the galaxy, a thick curtain of deep purple lushness behind which sounds of laughter and merriment were emanating, and a high-polished wooden desk of Tratakkan wood that pulsed through the colors of the rainbow, behind which another tentacled Ulturian stood with the bored, condescending look of all hotel staff through-out the universe.

               “Are we checking in Sir?” Ford fished around in his pocket and threw a packet of peanuts at Arthur, jumping back to his feet and sauntering to the counter.

               “Room for two.” He slapped a card he’d pulled off Vann Harl down on the counter. A tentacle snaked out and went back to ignoring him as it went through the impossibly long task of getting them a room. Two strong hands forcibly turned Ford around. Arthur’s eyes were boring directly into him.

               “Ford, I’m going to ask you this as plainly as is immediately available in my current state. I don’t want any vague answers, no witticisms, and _no bloody guide_.” Ford gulped, if he didn’t know the man better, he would have sworn the look in his eyes was flashing h-o-m-i-c-i-d-e. “Are we dead?” Ford had to choke back his first few answers. He finally settled on,

               “No, not as such.” Arthur nodded his head slowly.

               “How did we get here?” Ford once again had to stamp down on the flippancies and runarounds his tongue immediately supplied.

               “Transfer beam.” Arthur shook his head this time, already forming more questions. Ford sighed.

               “Look, let me finish this, we’ll go get a drink and I’ll explain everything, ok?” Arthur, eyes still boring unnervingly into Ford’s, finally nodded, releasing the smaller man and stepping back to look around some more. The clerk handed Ford two sticks, each with a complicated structure at one end that would have made M.C. Escher’s eyes water to look at, a receipt and brochure. Ford handed one stick back to Arthur.

               “Have a lovely stay.” The purple thing said with no evident emotion pertaining to the current situation. Ford then grabbed Arthur’s arm and pulled him through the curtains and into a seductively lit room, spacious and close at the same time. This was achieved by filling all the intermediate space with shadowy alcoves, potted plants, casino tables, waiters with sticky drinks, and delicately tall tables designed to be plowed over by the ridiculously drunk in order to keep the rest of the guests highly entertained. Ford thought it was heaven. Masses of figures moved, slunk, and rolled in whatever way was easiest for their bodies, most of them were Ulturian but with a healthy smattering of species from across the galaxy.

               “Bit over the top, isn’t it?” Arthur asked. Ford rolled his eyes, but grinned. It was so like Arthur.

               “Come on.” Pulling the man through the crowds, something niggled at his mind, but his eyes were taking up all brain power as they steered his feet towards the large, ostentatious bar filling an entire wall. Gently nudging aside what looked like a small elephant he ordered two Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters, shoved one into Arthur’s hand and downed his. Eyes bulging as the alcohol slammed into the sensitive skin of his esophagus, he watched the human swirling the contents a little, staring into them as if scrying for the future, but before Ford could tell him to get on with it he’d downed the drink in one gulp, not a muscle twitching. Ford began to feel a bit of unease, but it was buried under admiration. He knew the human was a boozer, but it took one froody dude to handle a Pan Galactic like that. Someone jostled into Arthur, lurching him forward into Ford who caught his arms just in case the drink had had more of an effect than obvious. But Arthur righted himself, set the empty container down and looked back at Ford expectantly.

               Ford let the niggling feeling burst into his brain the same second the Pan Galactic hit his nervous system. The whole time he’d jostled them through the crowd there had been no litany of “excuse us, pardon me, I do apologize” from the earthling, and even now he’d taken the full invasion of his three foot all around English bubble of personal space in stride. He looked Arthur fully in the face, right into those brown eyes, like the mud plains of the beautiful Hygarian fjords,

               (The Guide has this to say on the Fyords: _If ever the opportunity arises for you to take the love, loves or loved of your life/lives to the Hygarian Fyords, be ready to spend your life/lives with that/those individual/s, as the sight of the Hyagra’s jewel encrusted shores amid the multihued canyon of some of the lushest tropical flora and fauna in the galaxy will fill yourself and your partner with an influx of pleasure chemicals that you will likely pledge undying love for each other. Creation of offspring are rated at a 99.9% chance occurrence. You just can’t please some people.)_

                and saw the entire distance Arthur was forever separated from his home planet beaming from his eyes. Ford’s stomach sank. Through everything they’d been through together, spaceports millions of lightyears from earth, planets so incredibly alien even Ford had a difficult time finding a bar, fighting for their lives enough times to bet that kind of luck even in this casino; there had been some intangible length of rope keeping Arthur grounded to Earth, even in its state of mass particles floating through space. Ford had thought that that was the thing that kept Arthur from really experiencing the universe, kept him uptight and unable to relax. Now that rope had been severed, and Ford had no idea if it was a good thing after all.

               “The Sub-Etha net.” He finally answered. “I sent out a hailing frequency and someone answered at the last second.”

               “Where are we?” Ford wasn’t annoyed as he usually was with needing to repeat himself, he didn’t think Arthur had been listening the first time.

               “Interstellar Demolition Observatory.” Arthur’s face scrunched a little in thought.

               “I’m guessing that means what it sounds like. But, they weren’t there at the first one, why this time?” Ford’s eyes opened wide. The deduction was more than he ever expected from the earthling.

               “As far as I can tell, the earth wasn’t just destroyed in one Universe this time, but all the multifold it might exist on. It was…I guess you could say, demolished from ever existing.” He’d expected to have Arthur shaking his head, making ridiculous comments about Ford being mistaken, that it couldn’t be true, but the man just leaned heavily on one arm on the bar counter. For some reason, this was highly unnerving, and Ford scrambled to say something else. “The Ulturians are a very rich, very ancient race and what they enjoy the most is being the first to come up with entertainment ideas. They coined Menthra Racing, a race with a thousand-legged animal, which are tied into 500 pairs-”

               “Random, Trillian…Tricia?” Arthur asked with forced calmness. Ford shook his head.

               “I could only reach you in time.” In truth, Ford hadn’t even thought of anyone else, just like the first time he’d taken Arthur from Earth. As soon as the message came through, sitting on the resturaunt’s steps, he’d burst into laughter, turned, thankfully saw Arthur so close and grabbed his leg just as he was pulled into the transfer. Arthur’s eyes slid away to the wall behind the counter, lined with a multitude of multicolored mind alternants. Ford wanted to ask what he was thinking, which was a strange occurrence as he’d always assumed humans spouted out more information than was good for their health and wasn’t sure if encouraging that behavior was wise.

               “A bottle of Old Janx Spirit and another Pan Galactic.” Ford’s eyes opened even wider in surprise. Arthur ordering drinks, like they did this all the time. Well, they did, but it was usually Ford who got there first, because he assumed the human would just gawp over the counter or make an obscenely rude gesture or point out something embarrassing that would make the Betelgeusian want to kill him. 

               “Arthur…” But the man simply pushed the drink towards Ford, grabbed the bottle and left the bar, squeezing expertly through a throng of green colored crustaceans. Ford debated going after him, but this strange new version of his friend confused him. With a jolt he realized why that was. Arthur hadn’t jibbered unintelligibly at him once, didn’t disbelieve the second loss of his home. Wasn’t panicking. He was starting to fit into the universe. This brought an entirely new element to the man and Ford wasn’t sure he wanted to see the results. He’d always enjoyed lording over the earthling how much he didn’t know or hadn’t experienced. But over the last decade, Arthur had experienced plenty and Ford didn’t know how he fit in with the man anymore. Knocking back the drink, Ford decided to do what he did best: ignore it.

 


	2. Try Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ford get drunk, gets sober and gets an eyeful.

“An’, an’ you know what else?” Ford had ingested an obscene amount of alcohol by this point, Harl’s card gaining him as much access to liquor as he could stand upright to order, and with that kind of access his arms and hands were doing as much talking as his slurring mouth. The small elephant-like creature at whom he was gesticulating, watched the Betelgeusian with rapt attention. His own species never showed much emotion and this man was like all their best theater thrown together. “He didn’ even _thank_ me for rescuin’ ‘im… _again_!” The elephant’s trunk swept forlornly to the side.

               “His home was blown up twice? How awful!” Ford nodded into his drink, but then frowned.

               “’S not like he’s the on’y one it’s ever happen’ to.”

               “Did your planet blow up?” Ford nodded drunkenly and tried to look sad, surprised he didn’t feel that way. He often wondered why Arthur got all sentimental about earth.

               “Did everyone you love die?” Along with good theater, the little elephant man’s people lacked tact. Ford frowned.

               “Well…no. It was before me, my fath- wash the on’y surv-sruvive…on’y one got out.” Ford got distracted wondering why he had two left hands, and which one was holding his drink. He tried the leftmost one, as it looked the friendliest and let out a giggle when alcohol was poured onto his shoulder.

               “That must have been awful for him.” Ford nodded again. He was sure it must have been, his father never talked about it. But Arthur talked about it all the time. Ford wondered which of them had the right turn of things. His father had died of shame because Ford could never properly pronounce his real name, but the man never spoke his native tongue, so how the hell was Ford supposed to have learnt it?! But with everything Arthur had experienced, he’d not only adapted, but in some cases even thrived. Even now, with the second and final demolition of his planet, the man was pulling the universe back around him like a well-worn robe. Like Ford would have.

               A drink was pushed into his hands and he grinned, giving a quick salute to the elephant before downing the entire contents. Fire burned at his stomach, closing his eyes he could feel the heat ebbing through the rest of his body till he was sure steam was pouring out of his ears. Opening his eyes, he waved the cloud of water vapor away from his head, his gaze focusing on the grinning elephant man.

               “I thought you would want to be sober when you go to apologize to your boyfriend.” The man gave him an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “Thank you, young man, this has been the best conversation I’ve ever had.” With that the man moved back into the crowd, leaving a stunned and depressingly sobered Ford Prefect behind. His mind finally caught up with words and he yelled belatedly,

               “I’m not apologizing!” A few seconds went by. “And he’s not my boyfriend!” A chuckle had him turning to glare at the barman who pushed a Djynin Tonick at him.

               “You might not wanna to be dat sober, he didn’ seem da sorta fella to forgive dat easily. On da house.” Before Ford could do more than sputter at him, he’d turned to take more drink orders. Snatching the drink grumpily from the bar he walked away into the crowd, scowling at anyone else who tried to make conversation with him. He finally found an archway that led to a thankfully empty and dimly lit hallway. Sinking into a chair he sipped at the drink. Through-out the galaxy people had assumed Arthur was his boyfriend/spouse/slave/concubine. He’d never told this to the earthman, he knew humans had fairly prudish views about sexuality that Ford had never quite grasped.

               He remembered when he’d first met Arthur and flirting hopelessly with him, even going so far as to appear naked, on his bed. Arthur had assumed some freak accident had eroded all his clothes, blushed wildly, but gotten him some pants and a shirt in a stupidly endearing way. Ford had given up after that. But then, after the Earth had blown up Ford had harbored a secret hope that Arthur would loosen up without the scrutiny of 6 billion other prudish humans. Instead the man had remained fixated on his habits, preferring species reminiscent of himself and still viewing even Ford sometimes as “too alien”.

               “ _What about now? This new Arthur? What does he think?_ ” Ford frowned deeply, telling that part of his subconscious to piss off. He didn’t even know why he was still interested in the man anyway, plenty of other beings found Ford exotic and fun, what the hell did it matter if some backwards ape wouldn’t give him that time of day?

               “ _Because he’s kind.”_ He squirmed, not liking the part of his brain monologuing at him. _“He’s pulled you off the ground more times than you can count when you were piss drunk. He made a better companion than any you’d had before because he would keep going, no matter how scared/baffled/stupid he was. He helped screw your head back on whenever you felt like just giving up, just by thinking about where he was, what he was doing and how to mess with him._ ” He growled, his subconscious not caring a lick that he’d rather it take a nice running leap off a cliff and not learn how to fly. But it didn’t seem to be done.

               “ _Because he’s the best friend you ever had, put up with your bullshit, and still wanted you to be the crazy, lucky bastard you’ve always been._ ” Ford put his head in his hand. It was all true of course, he just tried to never think about it. Tried to never examine why he felt like he needed Arthur with him.

               “ _Oh, also, you think he’s unbearably sexy_.” Ford groaned again, louder. This was embarrassingly true as well. Humans were close to Betelgeusians in looks, but plumper which was a plus to Ford’s tastes. Arthur was also ridiculously tall, which was another bonus, as Ford liked to feel like he was wrapping around his lovers as if they were a tree. His heart throbbed painfully, and he suddenly needed to find his friend, scared of him as he realized he was. Standing, swaying only slightly, he moved down the hall and away from the casino. Arthur would want to be secluded, no matter how much he’d changed. Turning a third corner, he saw two Ulturian ladies (the difference in gender was slight, but the head tentacles gave it away), moving quickly down the hall a wet gurbbling sound between them that Ford recognized as giggles.

               “Excuse me ladies,” he oozed elegantly. They stopped, blinking at him with large, almond shaped eyes.       

(The Guide has this to say on the physical forms of Ulturians _: Ulturian eyes are beautiful. They have no discernable irises or pupils, but the insides swirl with smoky liquid colors. Their faces are elegant, lacking a nose or mouth (each placed behind the head and chest tentacles respectively) but somehow expressive and intelligent. Most of their outer body has tentacles of varying sizes. Underneath the tentacles is a large slug-like body.  Colors vary widely and can be artificially achieved through specific diets. They are considered one of the more beautiful races in the galaxy._ )

                “I’m looking for a man, taller than myself,” he reached high above him, “brown fur on his head…my color skin…” he trailed off as the girls burst into even higher-pitched giggles, pointing down the hall. He nodded at them as they hurried away. He shook his head. Women. Ford continued down the hall, turned the corner and froze. Well. He’d found Arthur.

               The man was pinned to the wall, what could be seen of his body was bare, the rest obscured by light, silken blue tentacles that were giving off an ethereal glow. Ford blinked. Then blinked again, realized he was standing in the middle of the hallway and ducked behind a potted plant. He peered hurriedly through some fronds at the spectacle before him, his stomach swooping with astonishment. Arthur, the prudish earthling, was currently in an extremely compromising position, in a very open space, with a _very_ alien being and didn’t seem to mind. Quite the opposite if the low moans drifting down the hallway were anything to go by. Arthur’s hips were rocking back and forth eagerly, but from what Ford remembered of Ulturians, sexual congress in that manner couldn’t be achieved, but he noticed quite a few tentacles were between them and felt faint at the thought that they were wrapped quite intimately around his friend. This Ulturian was different from the others, if Ford could judge Ulturian beauty, which he believed he could. It’s silken skin, perfect purplish nodules gracefully speckling it’s mottled coloring; long, flowing tentacles elegantly cascading around its body. His friend had somehow managed to entice the Ulturian equivalent of a super-model.  

               Arthur’s hands were wrapped in the Ulturian’s head tentacles and Ford wondered if Arthur knew that they were its sex organs. But the way his hands were tugging and sliding purposefully in them, he seemed very aware of it. But how? And _why_? Ford shook his head, absentmindedly taking a sip of his drink, deciding to stop thinking and just watch. But as he looked closer, he noticed the ridges on the head tentacles and wondered viciously if Arthur realized he was with a male of the species. He forgot to think again as Arthur tilted his head back, one of the larger head tentacles pushing at his mouth which he opened immediately to suck it into his heat. The Ulturian purred, the sound gurgling like it was coming through water as Arthur moved his head back and forth, fingers still gripping and petting. Ulturians were basically a water sack, having no bones, but many many nerve endings all along the undersides of their tentacles. The hard ridges of Arthur’s body must have felt thrilling and delightful, its tentacles twitching and spasming, wrapping and moving all over the human.

               The alien murmured words Ford couldn’t hear, and Arthur pulled back enough to answer lowly before his mouth dipped back forward for the tentacle and two more. Their motions became more hurried, Ford started to pant. His eyes drifted down the skin he could see on Arthur, thigh muscles bulging and straining with the movements. Ford jerked so hard the plant shook. He’d just noticed a thick tentacle wrapped completely around Arthur’s backside and as his friend surged forward it became obvious that it was pressed deeply inside him and moving unhurriedly in and out. Ford groaned out loud and was lucky Arthur gave a groan of his own, his hips stuttering, pushing forward more strongly, gasping his orgasm around the Ulturian’s tentacles, which began to tense and shudder. Secretions suddenly began oozing out of its head, a deep bluish color and running like molasses. It ran all over Arthur’s hands and arms and must have been flooding his mouth.

               ‘This is it,’ Ford thought, ‘this is where Arthur realizes what he’s doing and freaks out.’ But it didn’t happen. In fact, as soon as the tentacles left his mouth with a plopping sound Arthur pulled the Ulturian’s head down to his mouth, lapping and sucking as much of the fluid up as he could reach, smearing his face with streaks of blue. Ford groaned lowly, palming the front of his pants where his erection was straining his very expensive boxer briefs. He knew Ulturian secretions were in fact quite appetizing, tasting like a salty strawberry jam. But to see prudish Arthur Dent enjoying it so much was a sight he couldn’t believe.

               Suddenly Arthur began laughing, low and throaty. He said something to the alien, some coy thing that was apparently received well because the Ulturian laughed as well, curling more tentacles around Arthur and pulling him close as Arthur wrapped long arms around its body. Ford felt some strange, twisting sensation in his chest when he realized they were enjoying post-coital snuggling. He felt very much like a pervy intruder but couldn’t look away. Arthur said something else and a tentacle reached out, pulling Arthur’s bag out of his pile of clothes. Arthur dug around until he pulled out a towel and began softly wiping away the blue secretions on the alien and himself. It was sweet and so like Arthur that Ford reeled back a little, clutching his own towel tight around his neck.

               They were talking more, and Ford’s heart almost stuttered to a stop when Arthur leaned forward and licked the creatures eye, tongue moving in gentle circular motions. This was probably the most intimate thing you could do with an Ulturian, who not only allowed it, but curled tentacles up into Arthur’s hair to keep him there. This was more than just sex Ford realized, who’d had enough to know the difference. They liked each other.

               Jealousy reared in Ford so quickly he almost stormed out from behind the plant to pull Arthur away from what was basically a stranger, no matter what they’d just done, but Arthur was pulling back, allowing Ford to swallow the feelings swamping him. A tentacle deposited something in Arthur’s hand, who looked surprised but pleased. The Ulturian was pulling his body back and Ford shut his eyes, finally turning away before the rest of Arthur could be revealed. For some reason, seeing more of him naked like this was crossing some line he hadn’t known existed. Ford walked quickly back around the corner and decided that finding their room was the best course of action, fighting down some clawing sensations rising in his belly.


	3. Wouldn't be the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short, final chapter in which Ford gets melancholy and drunk again, because why not?

There was a luxuriously stocked bar in their room that Ford didn’t even try to ignore, deciding to find some intimate acquaintances of his own in the form of highly expensive liquor. When Arthur finally found their room, it was to also find a very drunk Ford spread out on the bed, singing an old Betelgeusian battle hymn, beautiful and melancholy. He wondered if Ford even realized he was there.

               “’Ello Arthur. Have fun?” There was something in his words, something tight, that made Arthur realize Ford was mad at him. Probably for leaving him in the bar. But Ford was always good at finding company, usually it was Arthur who was left to sit alone, so he didn’t feel very bad.

               “I did actually.” He set his stuff down and moved to the bathroom, the Sens-O-light automatically flooding the tile with lighting appropriate to his mood, dim and sensual. He looked in the mirror. His face and arms were streaked with bluish secretions, his hair mussed up, lips puffy and red. He had “sex” written all over him and for some reason this made him smile. A shifting in the mirror told him Ford had joined him. He locked eyes with the Betelgeusian in the reflected surface and his stomach twisted. There was a heat there that Arthur had never seen.

               Ford moved up to Arthur’s side, and the man turned to face him defiantly, wondering if they were going to have a yelling match. Fords hands came up quickly, grasping each side of Arthur’s head. He pulled him down and Arthur’s eyes popped as a slick tongue licked up one side of his face.

               “Ford!” He scrambled back, but the smaller man followed him. “Ford, that’s…”

               “Ulturian ejaculate. I know.” Arthur pressed into the wall, Ford pressed into him. The smaller man went to lick him again, but Arthur stopped him.

               “Ford, how drunk are you?” He smaller man shook his head.

               “No’ near’y enough t’ forgive you.” Arthur sighed, grabbing the man’s hands and gently walking him back out of the bathroom.

               “I need a shower, then we can fight.” Before Ford could open his mouth to protest, he found himself in the hall, the door closed and locked. Shaking his head, he tried to clear the fog that felt like a prickling tornado in his head. Stumbling over to the phone, he called room service. Eventually. When he figured out what fingers were for.

               Arthur came out of the bathroom some time later, in just silky pajama bottoms. Something was different inside of him. His encounter had made him feel wanted, sexy, and not so alone. He had the urge to show off his body a bit, even just to Ford, and he gave into it with little fuss. And if a part of him wanted to tease his drunk and horny friend, well he figured the betelguisian had it coming. When Ford’s eyes fixed on him, they seemed much more able to focus, and their sole attention was to rake across Arthur’s chest and abdomen, a distinctly hungry look, practically dripping with drool. Arthur paused, wondering if a shirt had been a good idea after all. He cleared his throat.

               “Alright Ford. Go ahead and start the yelling.” But Ford’s face seemed to crumple in on itself. He flung himself at the bed, a much more graceful movement than Arthur thought he was capable of in his state.

               “Ford did you sober up that fast?” A hand waved vaguely at a bottle on the counter.

               “An elephant downstairs whipped up a cure for me. I wanted to be coherent for this.”  Arthur nodded, remembering the little man Ford had pushed aside. Ford sounded exasperated that Arthur took this in stride.

               “What the hell is wrong with you Arthur! Your planet was blown up, again! And you’re acting all froody and cool. Who the hell are you?” Arthur felt a little stab of anger, but Ford was right. He knew he was acting strange and the man had a right to be concerned, even Arthur was a little.

               “I don’t know,” he started, trying to think around his tiredness, “right before, you know, the explosion, I felt at peace, like everything was finally over, that it was the end and well, everything was ok. I know that explains nothing, but even now, I know, hey I’ve tried to live life and a lot of it was good and a whole ton of it was strange, but I got to love and be loved and just because something ends, doesn’t mean it’s _the_ end. Even if I’d died, you know, the whole,” his arms spread out expressively, “it would still be happening, and it wouldn’t matter if I was there, so it doesn’t matter if I _am_ here.” Arthur’s eyes looked pleadingly at Ford, trying to get him to understand. Ford stared back in shock. That kind of mindset was what had made Ford become a roving hitchhiker in the first place, it was so close to the Tragdian edict Ford almost burst into tears. “And as long as there’s drinks and hopefully someone else to pay for it, life is just life.” Ford burst into tears.

               Arthur’s body jerked in surprise. He hadn’t even known Ford was capable of crying. He moved quickly to stand next to him but felt at a loss what to do next. But Ford pulled himself together quickly, stood up, rushed over to the bar and took a long pull from a bottle.

               “I thought you said you wanted to be sober?” Ford took a breath, gasping.

               “Too sober!” He croaked. Arthur moved next to him, took the bottle and downed a healthy dose himself. Watching his throat muscles move, the elegant curve of his neck, an image shot into Ford’s brain, of Arthur’s head tilted back to suck tentacles down his throat.

               “Look, I’m glad you’ve gone, all, zen and peaceful, but hooking up with random aliens isn’t!…I mean, it’s not-!” Ford paused, he had no idea what he was saying. Arthur was giving him a distinctly smug look.

               “Right. Tell me Ford, as if you haven’t told me a hundred times, exactly how many people have you picked up in bars…” Ford waved his hands around, as if to ward off the words. He grabbed the bottle back, taking another swig.

               “ _I_ know what I’m doing! _I_ at least know I’m with a male of a species!” He blushed, having given away probably far too much. If pressed, he would swear up and down he could tell from the taste. Arthur was giving him a confused look and Ford crossed his arms. Here it was, Arthur would have a panic attack and things would be right in the universe.

               “So?” Ford goggled at him. Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Do you have a problem with that?” Ford began sputtering, his mind switching between mental gears.

               “Did you _know_?” He’d tried to ask it casually, but his voice was an octave higher and was probably the most unfroody sounding he’d ever been in his life. Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes.

               “Yes Ford, it had come up before…wait, how did you know?” Ford batted down his panic and opened his mouth ready for his excuse, when an unhelpfully detailed image of Arthur’s surging hips, a tentacle doing down-right dirty things to him and Arthur not caring it was a very male specimen, flooded into his mind. He choked. Arthur grinned. It is a little-accepted fact that the more time spent with another individual, the more characteristics are picked up by each other. Which is why lovers will begin to look like one another, or people begin to resemble their pets. Ford and Arthur had spent relatively long, close periods of stressful times together and where Ford had picked up Arthur’s little frown lines of concentration, Arthur had picked up Ford’s blood-curdling grin. It had teeth.

               “Ford, were you watching?” Ford sputtered. Arthur used his distraction to pull the bottle back and took a long, almost unending pull. Finally, tears squeezing from his eyes, he laughed a little, gasping for breath and asked,

               “So, how did I do? He seemed fairly pleased, even gave me this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an iridescent, dark hued pearl the size of a golf ball, alien script was etched onto the surface. Coordinates.

Ford stared down, stomach muscles trembling from the alcohol and something less definable. Almost like fear.

               “Arthur, do you know what that is?” He whispered.

               “I think so. He said if I wanted I could…well the translation he said wasn’t perfect, but it seemed like he was asking me to be one of his husbands.” Arthur laughed again and took a swig. Without looking, Ford reached out for the bottle, pulled it swiftly to his lips with Arthur’s hand still attached and drank the rest of the bottle in one go.

               “Easy Ford, or we’ll need another cure.” Ford stumbled away, throwing himself heavily into a chair. He cleared his throat but couldn’t think of anything to say. He tried the throat clearing again.

               “Are you gonna accept?” It came out husky, his throat stripped from the drink. Arthur just shrugged, putting it back in his pocket and sitting on the bed.

               “He was very nice, very interested in my story. Not to mention gorgeous, did you see his skin? I’d never really looked at an alien in a particularly sexy way before.” Ford felt his self-esteem plummet. “It was honestly, probably some of the best sex I’ve ever had.” The Betelgeusian folded in on himself, arms crossing, legs pulling up to his chest. The Ulturians were very loving to their partners, and the more money they had, the more partners they took. They had no boundaries for species or races, and simply enjoyed the exotic and sensual. Those two woman were probably that guy’s wives, and Arthur had said ‘one of his husbands’, so several more right there. Arthur would be rolling in money and tentacles every night. What could Ford offer him? Dirty spaceports, running for his life, sleeping under just a towel and endless hitchhiking through the vastness of space. Ford wasn’t paying attention to the silence, staring at their lush carpet, and so missed Arthur staring intently at him.

               “But no, I don’t think so.” Hope billowed stupidly in Ford’s chest. He looked up, the emotion etched all over his face. Arthur smiled.

               “I think I’ve gotten too use to this life with you.” Ford’s heart hammered in his chest.

               “It wouldn’t be the same without you Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming this far on this strange journey my mind decided to take. Not sure if there'll be more snippets or scenes from this timeline, but I do have a hankering to see the boys getting down and dirty, so we'll have to wait and see what the muses decide. Thanks again, hope it was entertaining at least ^_^


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